


Blood Like Starlight

by ktula, Splintered_Star



Series: Undead [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blasphemy, Blood Kink, Bondage, Boot Worship, Dominant Armitage Hux, Human/Vampire Relationship, Humiliation, Hux is Not Nice, Knifeplay, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Submissive Kylo Ren, christian iconography, inappropriate use of religious artifacts, self-injury, unsafe consumption of bodily fluids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula/pseuds/ktula, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splintered_Star/pseuds/Splintered_Star
Summary: They’ve been circling around each other for years. Kylo Ren, the most powerful vampire in Supreme Leader Snoke’s house, and Armitage Hux, the human liaison between the world of mortals and that of eternal darkness. Baiting, taunting, the cord between them growing ever tighter.Sooner or later, one of them is going to snap.





	Blood Like Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm ktula, and we made you a vampire AU.
> 
> Hi, I'm Star, and this got out of hand.
> 
> Thanks to deadsy, who beta'd for us.

 

Hux stands in front of Snoke, blood seeping into a bandage wrapped around his inner arm. The wound is self-inflicted, this time—the skirmishes from earlier in the day had not yielded the results that Hux wanted, and so, with a very sharp knife, he had pushed back his sleeve, and taken matters into his own hands.

Snoke raises an eyebrow and says nothing, while Ren stands next to Hux and pants with breath he doesn't need.

It's disgusting. Bestial. Hux can practically _hear_ Ren drooling with the desire to drain his lifeblood.

Disgusting...and yet.

The possibility of Hux being devoured by one of Snoke’s vampires at some point has been discussed—and Hux knows this, because the monsters often tell him right to his face. How he’s going to be eaten and devoured, sucked dry and left dessicated. They follow him from the moment he enters into Snoke’s domain—as incorporeal mist, or as clouds of bats swooping down at his head. Worse, they appear in their own mockeries of the human form, walking beside or behind him but leaving no footprints behind, and making not a single sound outside of the slight lisp of whatever filth they’re spewing at him through their malformed mouths, stuffed full of teeth.

Hux pays them no mind. He is protected, if not safe, because he has Snoke's word on his side, and while Snoke has declared him untouchable, none of those lesser beasts dare harm him.

Indeed, Hux is above any of them—except for the twitching, _desperate_ animal standing next to him that stares at his back as he is dismissed from the room. He and Ren are nominally equals, and so this is how it goes: Ren crowds him and glares and waits for Hux to flinch; Hux bleeds and waits for Ren to snap. Snoke tolerates it, for now, values Hux’s contributions and thus ignores their silent bickering, refuses to let Ren kill him—and leaves them both stalemated.

Hux has little patience for it. He has constructed infinite plans to storm into Ren’s rooms and discarded each one, certain that if he breaks first, he gives up too much power. He resigns himself to living out the span of his natural, _human_ life isolated from everyone around him—and then Ren breaks.

(Ren breaks _first_.)

The summons, the first of its kind, comes as a scrap of parchment carried on a cold breeze, drifting through the empty room until it settles into Hux's hand.

Hux raises his eyebrows at it, more amused than he will ever admit. Typical of Ren, to be so melodramatic. He waits. Even knowing that time means nothing to a vampire—he waits.

When enough time has passed, Hux tosses his cloak over his shoulders, and goes.

 

The door to Ren's chambers flies open a moment before Hux raises his hand to knock. Hux rolls his eyes, and steps into the dark without waiting to be invited. He can do that, after all, and enjoys reminding Ren of it.

He takes one step in, two—and on the third step, candles all around the room burst into cold blue light. They cast pale, flickering light over the room, but leave many corners shadowed. Dozens of candles line the open shelves of bookcases, and even more surround the huge chair of dark stone in the center of the room.

Hux rolls his eyes again at the dark figure slouched over the chair, draped in shadows despite the mass of candles around him. Instead of acknowledging the ridiculous display or, indeed, asking why Ren has summoned him, Hux turns to the shelves closest to him and glances over them, eyebrows going up once more.

“Scripture? Really, Ren?” Scripture, and silver crosses, and rosaries. Shelves and shelves of holy icons, lining the room. “Don’t these hurt things like you?”

Hux keeps his gloves on, and does not touch them. He has no artifacts of his own—he’s been offered many over the years by human servants in Snoke’s employ, but artifacts only hold power in the hands of the faithful—and Hux has never been one of those

“The pain makes me stronger,” Ren intones.

“Hardly,” Hux replies, looking at the ancient texts, the bones of saints and the jewelry that Ren has collected, somehow, and displayed out here in the open. He wonders how much Ren hurts being in this room, how much more it would hurt for him to touch these—objects. Has Ren gathered these with his gloves on, he wonders, or touched them with his bare hands, burnt his undead flesh even as he harvested them for—what purpose? “You’re an uncontrolled animal either way.”

Ren inhales sharply, even though he doesn’t need to.

Hux doesn’t bother to turn around. “Disgusting, really,” he continues, walking further into the room. He wonders if Ren meant it to be impressive, this collection of holy artifacts, if Ren is in the habit of bringing other humans around to show off to them. They would probably be impressed, but Hux has seen all of this before, and it doesn’t move him. “These aren’t very well-preserved, you know—as if you can take appropriate care of them, as if you’re capable of _valuing_ them. You’re nothing but an uncultured inhuman monster, incapable of—”

“Then _why_ ,” Ren snaps.

Hux doesn’t bother to turn around, won’t give Ren the pleasure. “Why what, Lord Ren?”

He doesn’t need to turn, because Ren is suddenly right in front of him.

“Then why do you bait me?” Ren snarls, his fangs inches from Hux’s lips. “Coming to meetings dripping blood, leaving your wounds open, taunting me with the smell …”

Hux holds his ground. “One day, Snoke will see you for the _beast_ you are.”

Ren snarls. “I am _not_.”

Hux smirks, very faintly. “Prove it.”

Ren jerks back, blinking.

Hux smirks wider. “If you want a taste of my blood that badly, prove it. Prove you can control yourself. Use your Holy Symbols, if you feel you need some... _incentive_. If you think it will help you focus.”

_I’ll show you what you can eat, you animal_ , Hux thinks, and he hopes that Ren hears him.

Ren hesitates, and then turns in a swirl of robes and cape, stalks to one of the displays and pulls something out with his black leather-gloved hands. When he approaches Hux again, he’s holding a rosary out in offering, the beads dangling down between his fingers.

“Not likely,” Hux says, feigning indifference as he scans the room. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. He’d expected to continue his campaign of taunting Ren for--well, for years, if he was being completely honest with himself, hadn’t expected the vampire to fold so quickly, to be so willing, and he needs to—he needs to sit down, get comfortable. Focus. “I’m not touching those, I don’t know where they’ve been.”

Hux approaches the stone chair in the center of the room. Ren had sprawled on it like the monster he is, thighs spread obscenely and arms draped over the hewn stone—but there’s no need to sit on it so dramatically. It is, after all, only a chair—and so Hux lowers himself down into it the same way he would sit on any other chair, back straight and posture rigid.

Ren does not object—stands there, still as a statue, holding the rosary in his gloved hands.

“Well?” Hux asks. “Go ahead, then.” He waits until the understanding starts to dawn on Ren’s face. Waits for Ren to begin to move, to slide his gloved hands between the beads—and then says, sharply, “Bare hands, if you would. And don’t take too long with it—I’m waiting.”

 

* * *

 

Ren’s lip curls into a snarl, fury rising up in him before he swallows it back. Gathering the rosary in one hand, he brings the other up to his mouth and tugs the glove off with his teeth. When it falls to the ground, it has the faint impression of his fangs ruining its perfection. It doesn’t matter if a pair is destroyed. He has thousands—and if Hux is looking for some kind of memento, he could do worse than to have a glove with the fang imprints of the strongest vampire in the world. A glove with _Ren’s_ fingerprints.

Hux is watching him as he slips his bare hands behind his back and into the rosary—and so he goes slowly, even as the pain starts to set in, slides his wrists through and rubs them against each other, delicately tucking the end of the rosary between them. It is a loose bondage, barely worth the name, but the burning under his skin isn’t just from the holy object.

When Ren finishes, he waits—and Hux waits too, sits, bleeding and very calm, just out of reach.

“I’m not debasing myself for someone with no control,” Hux says crisply. “Prove it to me, Ren. Prove to me that you can control your…baser instincts. Show me you can take what I offer you—and no more.”

Ren has control—Ren has all the control, but he doesn’t know whether he wants to control himself or break.

(He’s not sure which would be sweeter.)

He could pin Hux to the wall, drink up his sweet starlight blood…but he’s not sure it would be as good as this, as good as the waiting—

—as good as the _need_.

He wonders, though, why Hux would want to wait—Hux’s time is so finite, his life so short. Ren has everything, spread out in front of him—all the time in the word, and he can change his mind any moment he likes, but the moment he blinks, Hux’s human life will have run its course completely.  


There must be pleasure in the waiting—Hux acts like there is, at least, smirks as though he knows something Ren doesn’t. Even though that’s impossible. Even though Hux is _mortal._

Hux holds up his arm, sleeve pushed up past his elbow, fingers stretching out to Ren, and if he thinks he will summon Ren to him like a dog, he has to think again because Ren does not, Ren _will_ not—

Hux has a knife. Hux has a knife, short and sharp and glittering, and he presses it against the half closed wound on his arm with his free hand, just enough to open it up again, and—

—There is a drop.

There is a drop of blood.

There is a drop of blood, beading up, falling from Hux’s arm to the floor. It hits with an audible _ping_ , the sound reverberating and echoing in waves that only Ren can hear. The scent of it is faint, even to Ren, but rolling outward like a storm cloud, copper and warmth and life and death and some edge to it that is so completely Hux, and it brings Ren to his knees

“Do you still want it?” Hux asks.

(As though Ren has any other option.)

Ren nods. Shifts on his knees. He's too obsessed with watching Hux to remember to breathe, and if he doesn't breathe, he can't speak, and there's just—oh, Hux’s blood smells fantastic, warm-wet and dark, and Ren can only imagine how it'll _taste_...

Hux moves the toe of his boot until it is right next to the drop of blood drying on the floor.

"Do you want it ... this badly?" he asks, looking at Ren meaningfully, and then looking down at the single drop of blood.

Ren snarls, curses, calls Hux every name he can think of—but he doesn't say no.

"Yes or no. You say no, I will release you and you can go and hunt whomever you wish. If you say yes..."

Ren waits, but Hux just smirks and says nothing more.

The first awkward shuffle forward that Ren makes—he's still bound, there's nothing he can do _but_ shuffle, knees scuffing on the floor, cloak trailing out behind him—is so slight that Ren wonders if Hux cannot see it with his human eyes, for all that he does not react to Ren’s movement, not even a little—

Ren shifts forward again, knees digging into the stone floor.

Then, another shift. Ren stares down at the blood and doesn't meet Hux's eyes. He can hear it, though, the very slight increase in the rate at which Hux breathes.

Ren’s tongue flicks out, slides over his lips just once.

(Hux could keep him gagged for days, he thinks, Hux could do things to him that would damage a human, he could, he could—)

Hux's blood thuds, pulse picking up. Ren's head snaps up to stare at his throat.

"Focus, Ren. You can't have this—" and here, Hux gestures at his neck. "Until you have that."

Ren looks down at the drop of blood again. It's drying on filthy stone.

"And maybe not even then," Hux says casually.

Fuck, how magnificent of a lord he would be. All ice cold and sharp, how perfect would he be as his equal, how much better would it be, once Ren shared blood with him, how _glorious_ —

—but then he would lose this smell, this taste, the warm soft humanity of him, then it wouldn't _burn_ the same way to kneel for him—

Ren bends, opens his mouth. His tongue is long and flexible. He’s caught Hux staring at it before, heard what seeing it does to Hux’s pulse. Hux leans back in his chair, as if to see better, and Ren can hear his pulse thud. Ren stares down, caught somewhere between rage and longing, more conscious of his tongue than he has ever been since he changed.

"It's drying, Ren."

Ren tips his head down, hair falling a little forward. Extends that long tongue of his even further, and deliberately places it right—on—the—spot. Tips his head, and looks up at Hux.

Hux opens his mouth, then closes it again. Instead of speaking he gestures with his hand, slides those delicate digits horizontally, and Ren—

—Ren's tongue slides across the spot on the floor, laving the dried blood from the stone. He pulls it back into his mouth when he’s done, shudders slightly. There is grit on his tongue, grit and dust and pieces of stone, but there’s also that small flare of Hux’s blood, a hint of the ecstasy of it but no sooner has he tasted it than the taste fades into the back of his throat.

Hux bites his lip. Ren can hear him swallow, can smell the hint of blood as the flesh of his lower lip gives way to his teeth.

Ren--fuck, he's not hard, he hasn't eaten recently enough to be hard, but _fuck_ he wants to be, fuck he wants—

His tongue comes out again, chasing any last remnants of the blood—it was just as good as he'd expected, just as sweet and warm and fuck he needs more, needs to latch his teeth into Hux's wrist and drink, needs to—

"Good." It slips out of Hux's mouth, seemingly against his will. He swallows again.

Ren looks up. He can smell the blood in Hux's erection. Hux spreads his legs and smirks at Ren’s focus.

“I'm not certain I trust your fangs there."

Hux wants it, though. Ren can smell it, can smell every pulse of blood and something else, salt and humanity and—

—Ren licks his lips, and watches Hux's eyes track the movement

Ren tips his head again, looks at the spot on the floor. It's clean, he knows it's clean, but he wants Hux to bleed for him again, would lick another spot up if that were an option—and so he tips his head again, presses his tongue to the spit-slick granite on the floor (empty, empty)—and shuffles forward again, slides his tongue to the tip of Hux's boot. Licks across the leather.

He doesn't need to look, he can hear the startled huff of breath from where he is, can hear the slight uptick in the beating of Hux's heart.

Ren swirls his tongue along the toe of the boot upwards, tongues the bottom-most eyelet. (It's easy, with how his tongue is, the way he can narrow it into a point at the tip. The taste of the leather isn't particularly pleasant for him, Hux’s boot tastes of tallow and acrid soap—but oh, the scent of Hux's arousal is glorious.)

Above him, the sound of a catch being undone. Ren pauses, a shudder racing down his shoulders, the rosary slipping, digging deeper into his wrists and burning, _burning_.

"If you're very good,” Hux says, his voice measured. “If you keep doing exactly what you're doing, I _may_ let you lick me clean afterwards."

Ren looks up—but Hux's gloved hands are there in his lap, and there is nothing to see.

"Well?" Hux says. "Continue."

Ren squirms in the bondage, lowers his head again to Hux's boot and begins again.

He can't see anything, but he can _hear_ —the sound of leather against flesh, the slide, the pounding of Hux's pulse—and he can smell, blood and arousal and sweat and--

Ren's hands twitch, cutting into the rosary, and he gasps, involuntarily—and then again, purposefully, when Hux's breath hitches in response.

Hux smells _so good_ right now.

Ren turns his attention back to Hux's boot, laves his tongue up the leather side of it, nearly to the top, and then—and then stops.

Opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Takes a breath.

"There's blood," Ren says. "Just…here."

A splash of it, a scattering of dried droplets just at the top of the shaft. Hux's, by the smell of it.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t smell it before.

"Waiting for permission? Good." Another kick to his pulse. Hux sounds breathless, his voice slurring very, very slightly. " _Good_."

He doesn't give permission. Ren - _whines_ -

An indrawn breath, and suddenly there's a hand in his hair, wrenching his head up.

"Open your mouth," Hux hisses, so Ren does, he does—

—opens his mouth as wide as he can, tongue out, teeth retracted even though it's physically painful for him to keep them in right now. His skin is burning and raw from the bondage, Hux's heartbeat pounding in his ears, and—

—when Hux comes, it's into Ren's mouth and across his face, it's on Ren's tongue and it's on his lips, it's Hux's hand working at his own cock and his other hand fisting in Ren's hair, pulling it tight at the roots.

It tastes—fuck, it almost tastes as good as his blood. Ren swallows, swallows again. Licks what he can off his own face, but there’s more—on the floor, soaking into his collar. And still, the blood on Hux’s boot.

Hux loosens his grip. He's panting, very slightly. His skin is flushed with blood.

"....you can lick up what you like, Ren."

Ren sinks to the floor gratefully, and does.  


 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Star can be found on tumblr at [splinteredscript](http://splinteredscript.tumblr.com/).
> 
> ktula can be found on tumblr at [heyktula](http://heyktula.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [at the same handle.](https://twitter.com/heyktula)


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